


A Gift Uncertain

by ValmureEld



Series: I Tried Not to Get Into the Witcher and Look Where That Got Me [17]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Geralt x Yennefer, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Medicine, Motherhood, Poison, Uresolved tension, Whump, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValmureEld/pseuds/ValmureEld
Summary: Pure retirement is too boring, so when Yen and Geralt find themselves twiddling their thumbs in Toussaint both go back to work: Geralt as a part time Witcher and Yennefer as a midwife slash local sorceress. One night, Yennefer brings home a bundle that will bring up old wounds and Geralt will take a contract that will test them all in more ways than any could have anticipated.Changed to M for witchering and graphic injury.Yennefer X Geralt, Ciri took to the Path ending.





	1. Teya

**Author's Note:**

> I've had a few of the scenes that will show in this fic knocking around in my head for a while. This is a first for me in quite a long time, writing a multi chapter fanfic, but that's exactly what this will turn out to be.
> 
> For my continuity Geralt and Yennefer settled in Toussaint after Blood and Wine. Ciri went on the path. I write under the ending where Detlaff was killed, only in my version Regis took what was left of Detlaff and decided to heal him bodily and mentally without the duchess' knowledge instead of finishing him off.

She'd tried. She'd really, really tried everything she knew, but the sad, bottom of the barrel truth of it was that she was not a healer. She knew how to be gentle, she could be kind, and she could do much with her knowledge and her magic, but she couldn't save the mother. She was a warrior sorceress, a creature to whom power and energy came easily. 

But not healing. Should she be so surprised when her existence until recently had hinged on being able to fight? She'd never cultivated healing abilities the same way. Maybe she couldn't. 

Yennefer stood there, breathing hard, her eyes locked on the mother's body with sympathy twisting her brow as failure gripped at her heart. A tiny cry distracted her attention and she turned her head, bowing over the bloody infant wrapped in a shawl. She hushed the little girl gently, rocking her and cradling her close, turning towards the girl hovering uncertain in the doorway. 

Geralt woke to Yennefer yelling for him, and his instinct had him on his feet with sword in hand before he even knew what he was doing. He ran to the door of their home, standing in the frame and blinking twice before his split eyes adjusted to the late moonlight.

“I didn't expect you till morning at least, Yen, what are you--” he squinted, his fingers slackening a little on the handle as he quickly sheathed the sword and went to the sorceress, who looked paler and more shaken than he had seen her in a very long time. He looked down at the bundle she clutched, ghosting his fingers over hers and then across her arms. She was tacky with blood, and she stank of death. A far cry from what a midwife should evoke. “Yen, what happened?”

“I couldn't save the mother,” Yennefer said quietly, her voice strange and unreadable to him. “The father is a knight, he is away. They don't know for how long. They are a young couple—alone in Toussaint. The closest family are in Novigrad...” She looked at him, her brow twisted. “She has no-one, Geralt. Not until her father returns. Only the servant girl remained with the mother to help her with the chores and she is half mad with grief and barely fourteen, she wouldn't know what to do with a baby.” 

Geralt's heart broke as he looked into her eyes, and he lifted a hand to stroke back her silky hair, craning his head so he could read her expression half hidden as it was by shadow. “Yen, it's not a good idea,” he whispered, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb. 

Her eyes hardened and she turned away from him. He let her, but the motion hurt. “Yennefer--” he tried softly, but her shoulders stiffened. 

“She has no-one,” she repeated, but she did not look at him. 

She went inside like a shadow, leaving him in the moonlight with a troubled heart. He stood there for several long moments, arms crossed over his chest and wishing that Ciri was there. He knew Yennefer was in pain, he knew that made her normally level head a little unsteady, and he felt for the child, but he could see nothing good coming of this. How would Yennefer have the heart to give the baby up when her father returned if she was already attached? He gave a long, bone-weary sigh, glanced out over their vineyard, and followed her. 

He found her in Ciri's room. She was sitting unclothed in a tub of water that was steaming gently, the baby cradled on her propped up knees. She was speaking softly to her, washing the blood away with gentle strokes. 

Geralt stood watching them for a long time, guilt eating at his heart. He was incurable, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his mutations were permanent, but maybe Yennefer wasn't. Maybe, with someone else, she could have what she so clearly still longed for. Pain pulled at him, manifesting in his throat, and he tried to push away the thought that he shouldn't be with her. That she deserved the chance at this. Yes, they had Ciri, but Yennefer had never gotten to raise Ciri like this. 

The feeling of inadequacy clung to him like wet spiderweb and he closed his eyes for a long moment, turning his head away as he blinked and tried to compose himself. He wanted Yennefer to be happy, and he hated that he was doubting their relationship again. He didn't know what he would be without her there in Toussaint with him. Neither had been able to retire fully. He still took contracts and ran bandits out ahead of the knights and Yennefer had taken to practicing a wider variety of spells and helping the local women as a midwife. 

But they were happy. They delighted in each other, and in their work. He was hunting because it thrilled his blood and the people there, at least once in a while, thanked him for it. She was helping mothers because it made her happy to do so while they both waited for Ciri to come back and visit. It was a far cry from the years where he hunted so he wouldn't starve and she studied so she could outsmart the Lodge and survive the miseries of court duty. 

He truly wasn't sure he would be able to stay at the vineyard without her. He knew that unless he had her to come home to, he would surely end up on the path and fulfill the prophecy placed on the head of every Witcher. He would die alone in the mud from a festering bite rather than in his own bed. 

Slowly, he took a measured breath and pulled away from those dark thoughts, the weight of his medallion against his chest all too apparent. Yennefer, for once, did not call him out on his thoughts. No doubt she wasn't listening to his mind or even his heart in that moment; she was consumed by the child in her lap. 

Slowly, his fingers feeling stiff, he unbuckled his sword belt and lay it across Ciri's bed, rolling his sleeves up and carefully moving into Yennefer's line of sight before kneeling down and resting his forearms gingerly on the edge of the tub. He studied her, but she wouldn't look at him. After a long beat of silence with nothing but the water in the tub to break it, Geralt dared to speak. 

“What's her name?”

“Teya,” Yennefer said quietly, rubbing her thumb back and forth on the baby's tiny hand. She'd fallen asleep gripping Yennefer's finger and the sorceress looked like she never wanted to move again. 

He wanted to say a million things; I'm sorry, I wish I could give this to you, we should take her to a temple, but instead he said “Do you need anything?” 

“A fresh blanket. I've already fed her. She will need to sleep in our bed tonight.” 

Geralt nodded and got up, going against his better judgment to get the requested blanket. When he returned, Yennefer was standing with Teya cradled against her bare breast, looking out the window across the vineyard at the silvery pools the moon created. Daring again, Geralt approached and unfolded the first towel he'd fetched, draping it around Yennefer's shoulders and daring to wrap his arms with it when she didn't flinch away. They stood there for a long time, his chin resting on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her and the baby with the towel to stave off a chill. 

She finally looked at him, and the amount of pain mixed with conflicted awe in her eyes caused his heart to stumble as he gently let go and drew back so she could turn towards him. “Oh Yen,” he breathed, reaching out a hand to brush her cheek. To his great surprise, she let him. Even closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

“I know we cannot keep her, Geralt,” she began, and he heard her pain even though she tried to hide it. “When her father returns I will give her up. It's only--” she sighed, brushing a hand over the crown of the baby's head as Geralt held out the smaller blanket. Yennefer accepted it and carefully wrapped Teya up without waking her. “You should have seen her eyes, Geralt. They are so very much like Ciri's.”

He did not know what to say to that, because nothing he could say would fix things, so he just reached out and clasped her hand, trying to convey wordlessly what he simply could not find words for. 

Yennefer hardly slept that night, watching Teya until the early morning when they both finally fell asleep. Geralt didn't sleep at all, too concerned about their situation and too disturbed by old insecurities. He sighed as the smell of very early morning blew across them from the cracked window and got up, leaving the room silently. Yennefer remained asleep with Teya on her chest. 

He walked out of the house barefoot and into the front courtyard. The workers living on his property used to give him strange glances when he moved about at odd hours, but now those that were awake to care for the chickens or start early on the vines barely spared him a glance and a respectful nod. Geralt stood there in his sleeping trousers and shirt for a long time, watching the morning as it rose and wishing he could think about something else. 

Finally he shook his head, relenting back to what he always seemed to: the path. He went through the herb garden harvesting blooms of wolfsbane and fool's parsley crisp with dew before descending into the wine cellar and back through the broken wall to the laboratory he'd discovered. With Regis' help it was now a highly functional mutagen lab, and though he needed no further treatments from the trials it was also a good place to brew potions. He set about to the task, something familiar enough to ease his restlessness but demanding enough that his mind wasn't constantly snagged on worry. 

He was in the middle of making moondust bombs when a flustered young man came running pell mell down the tunnel so fast he barely stopped in time to avoid knocking over the table. Geralt had been very focused, and startled when the footsteps sounded, spilling silver dust all over the table and his hands. 

He cursed softly, dusting it off and sighing, his eyes adjusting as he glanced into the light to fix on the newcomer. “Get your breath back, then tell me what monster has you pitching yourself past courtesy and into my cellar.” 

“Apologies....master Witcher...” the boy wheezed, and Geralt sighed, shaking his head as he got up. 

“I told you to get your breath back first,” he chided, folding his arms and leaning against the table as he scanned the lad for clues. “You're not bloody so I assume you saw something?”

“Heard, yes, my master sent me to you,” he managed after a moment, heaving a great breath and finally standing upright and looking at Geralt instead of leaning on the table. 

“Heard?”

“A rumbling, like some great thunder but in the ground and then nearly an entire acre of the vineyard just...collapsed.” His eyes were wide and his tone was like he could hardly believe what he was saying himself. 

Geralt frowned. That sounded like the result of centipede burrows but that was one massive infestation if they were causing ground collapse on such a huge scale. “Did you see the creatures responsible? Can't be Archispores, those prevent ground decay most of the time. Kikimore don't typically burrow that shallow. If this is centipedes you have a lot more than one Witcher can handle.”

The boy's face paled and he groaned low in his throat, rubbing his forehead in distress. “I was affeard you would say something like that. But after you took down the beast of Beauclair I had hoped...”

“A single opponent, even the Beast is very different from clearing out an entire nest of centipedes. Especially one that big.” 

“Then what am I to tell the master? He and the rest of the household have fled to the city for sanctuary but the vineyard—the harvest--”

“Are lost,” Geralt interrupted. “There's nothing I can do about that. I am not saying I won't help, but I can't take this contract alone. Tell your master and his family to stay where they are. And you stay too. When I have a plan and some backup I will go and your problem will be taken care of. But it will take time for other Witchers to arrive.” 

“I don't know how many my master can afford, what with the vineyard a loss this season,” the boy said, and if possible he looked even more afraid, as though Geralt might attack him at the mention of a lack of coin. Geralt felt himself anger at the implications but he couldn't help that Witchers had such a warped reputation. 

“I'm sure we can work something out,” Geralt said evenly. “The Dutchess cares about her people and an infestation like that is a public problem. I'm sure your master wouldn't be paying alone. I will warn you though, I will need at least two other Witchers to help me with this. One could be here quite soon, provided I can make contact. The other could take weeks.”

He nodded, taking a shuddering breath and straightening his back. “Alright, thank you. What should we do in the mean time—I fear that they will spread.”

“Tell the knights about it and give them this,” Geralt said, fishing around on a shelf until he found a small vial of foul, black liquid. “That's a concoction that mimics the scent of the centipede's greatest natural predator. Unfortunately they are extinct, but the centipedes don't know that. If the knights make more with this formula--” he handed over the vial and a piece of parchment “then spread it around the edge of the nest it will keep them in one place. At least for a while. A constant guard of knights will help protect travelers. If we warn people away from the area we should be able to prevent more casualties until I and the other Witchers can get there. Got all that?”

The boy nodded, clutching the two items. “Yes sir.” He tapped his heels together and nodded sharply, his wits about him again. “Thank you sir.”

Geralt couldn't help his amused smile. “You're welcome. Now go on, take a horse if you don't have one. Just not either of the mares in the upper stables.”

When he went back inside, Geralt was feeling considerably better with a new challenge to face. He wasn't sure that was a healthy sign but he chose to focus on preparation instead of mentally dissecting himself. If he was going to contact Eskel and Ciri he would need Yennefer's help though, so he followed her scent to the side garden where she sat with Teya under a tree. 

“Yen, I need to contact Eskel,” he said, settling in the grass beside her and trying not to read into the fact that she only spared him a glance. “And Ciri, if you could,” he added carefully. He didn't want her to think he was trying to push her on getting out of the baby slump, even if he did quietly hope that seeing Ciri would make this entire thing easier on her.

Yennefer tore her eyes away from Teya to look at him, rocking the baby unconsciously as she read his expression. “What's happened? I thought you wanted to let Ciri walk the path on her own?”

“I do, but there's a contract that is far too large for me to handle alone. I need her and Eskel if we are going to be able to complete it and all walk away breathing.”

“So don't take the contract, you have no further need for money,” Yennefer said, her tone indifferent and cold. Geralt's brow furrowed, even though he knew Yennefer did that to protect herself. It was her way of saying she wanted him and Ciri safe. 

“I can't ignore an infestation like this, Yen. The centipedes caved in an entire acre of a neighboring vineyard. I'm equipped to handle it and so are Ciri and Eskel. That's why I'm asking for help. I'm not doing it for the coin, but we both knew that I wouldn't stop hunting all together. Maybe it's because it's all I've ever known but some part of me enjoys hunting. You said you were fine with that.” He paused, looking at her long and hard. “Are you changing your mind?”

She took a deep breath and let it out, adjusting Teya and standing. “I cannot contact Eskel, you know that.” 

“Yes, but you can contact Ciri, and she can look for him. The moment she finds him she can blink them both here and we can handle the threat.”

“Fine. I will summon your cavalry. Is that all?”

Geralt flinched at the question, his brow furrowing. Was this what it was going to be between them now? All because he was trying to protect her from the grief he knew she would face when the baby's father came back? 

“Yeah,” he said finally, even though he probably should have said something entirely else. “That's all. If you need me I'll be in town, getting my swords honed and my armor repaired.” 

Over the next few days Geralt prepared. He refreshed his mind and muscle memory by practicing in the courtyard with his swords. He meditated and brewed potions and crafted enough bombs first for himself, then for Ciri and Eskel as well. When he couldn't justify making more without risking the entire estate going up with a stray spark, he moved on to perfecting every edge of his armor and swords—even the ones he wasn't planning on using during the fight. It was the flimsiest excuse he had ever given himself but he justified those hours by thinking that if a sword broke or Eskel lost one of his then there would be plenty of backup.

As if Eskel would actually lose one of his swords. Probably the only Witcher in history to lose his swords and live to be horrendously embarrassed about it was Geralt himself. He felt his body grow hot with the memory and he scrubbed harder with polishing wax. 

When he used up all of the fat in the larder on sword oils Yennefer spoke to him long enough to send him out of doors, and he spent the next three nights camped in the country practicing more and more intense versions of Yrden and Igni. He had hoped in some small corner of his mind that when he returned Yennefer would show some sign of missing him, but she was in the kitchen with the baby tied to her chest and she showed no indication that she'd even realized he hadn't been home in three nights. He wanted to say something to her, but his fingers tingled at the thought of her touch and so he grit his teeth and walked away. 

He'd done everything he possibly could to prepare for Eskel and Ciri and still Ciri hadn't tracked him down. That left Geralt alone with his thoughts and a Yennefer who was completely absorbed by the baby, and his judgment went down from there. 

He spent too long in the tavern the next two nights where his anger melted into the alcohol and turned into grief that felt something like the shreds of fear. 

“What are you doing?” he growled to himself, catching his balance on a fence as he walked slowly back home, his intoxication levels high even for him. He felt unsteady and slid to sit for a moment, cradling his head. He breathed hard and found his ability to draw air was actually suffering, his lungs feeling like they were stuffed with warm cotton. Oddly, he wasn't distressed. He supposed he probably had his mutations to thank for that: his body was way better at carrying and distributing oxygen than most people and that meant if he wasn't in the thick of battle he could go quite a while without a real breath. 

Not that he was planning to make this a habit or anything. He sighed, scrubbing at his eyes as he cursed softly. What in the world was he becoming? His medallion rest heavy against his breastbone and he fumbled it as he picked it up to look at it. He swallowed the dryness caused by the drinking and blinked, trying to focus on the wolf head. Instead of falling back into an existential crisis about whether he wanted to be a Witcher or keep being a Witcher or if he ultimately had a choice in the matter, he just thought about Vesimir and that brought tears welling that he was just too drunk to chase away. 

So he sat in the dirt, his back against a post, and cried because he felt alone. The tiny sober part of him was saying they were never picking up a vodka bottle again, but the rest of him simply did not have the energy to care. He hated that Vesimir was gone. He hated that he hadn't seen Eskel in more than two years. He hated that Yennefer seemed to have forgotten him in the midst of her false rapture. More than anything though, he hated that he couldn't just find peace in a home and a mate, even without a child. He was fine on the path, maybe he should just go back to it. Yennefer could keep the estate. Do what she would. 

She would find happiness without him. Maybe the father wouldn't come back at all and it would be Yennefer and Teya in that vineyard. She probably wouldn't notice if he didn't come back at all. He'd be free to go fulfill the Witcher destiny of dying in some rotten cave instead of bothering someone with funeral arrangements. 

Gods, when had his thoughts gotten so darkly self-indulgent? He wiped clumsily at his mouth, realizing that he'd started to fall asleep and drool. He slowly got back to his feet and stumbled towards the river. This time the sober part of his brain was telling the rest of him he was being ridiculous and needed to piss so he should splash his face, get over himself, and get the rest of the way back home. Yennefer was hurting. He should be there for her. They'd learned enough times that they were better together. 

Hadn't they? 

Cold water ran down his face and into his collar as he looked skyward, taking in the stars through his fog. He closed his eyes and focused on filling his lungs properly, getting gingerly to his feet after. By the time he got back to the house he was less intoxicated and more able to think. 

All the same, when he came finally into the bedroom and saw Yennefer with her back to him and the baby laying next to her, he couldn't help the plummet in his stomach or those same thoughts that wouldn't stop gnawing at him. He should leave. Let her have this peace. Let her have a chance with someone else. If he walked away then she wouldn't have to follow. He knew the path. He could go back to it for as long as his heart continued to beat. 

Yennefer's head picked up suddenly and he stiffened, sensing a change in her mood. Slowly, she gathered herself and sat up, touching the baby's stomach to ensure she was safe before turning around and looking at him. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes pierced through him. “Outside, please?” she said, and it was the first words she'd directed towards him since he'd asked her to contact Ciri. His mouth went dry and he swallowed, but she had already gotten up and walked past him, clearly expecting him to follow. 

He did. She stopped in front of the racks of armor displayed at the base of the stairs that led to Ciri's room, folding her arms and turning to look at him. For a long moment her eyes searched his face and he looked back, not knowing what to do or what to think. He just looked back at her, paralyzed by pain and by her scent and beauty. 

“Yen,” he finally tried, unable to stand the scrutiny or the silence any longer. She grabbed his jaw and he tracked her with his eyes, tensing slightly and uncertain about what to expect. 

Her lips pursed with displeasure for a moment before she reached up and pressed a long kiss to his mouth, her hand tightening on his arm when he tensed. He didn't remember feeling her grab his arm to begin with. She broke the kiss and before he could see it coming his cheek was stinging from a slap. 

“Gods, Yen, Ow? What was that for?” he exclaimed, and she clapped a hand over his mouth to keep him from waking the baby. Her eyes darted over his shoulder to look at the bedroom door and for a moment there was nothing but the crickets. When Teya did not wake and begin crying Yennefer let his mouth free and stared him down, keeping him in place with just her eyes.

“Do not think that just because I've been busy with Teya that I haven't been catching the tail end of every miserably idiotic melancholy thought you've been hauling around like a hunting prize for the past week,” she said, her voice stern. “I did not say anything simply because I know you don't like me reading your mind, but frankly it's difficult not to when you're projecting so strongly. And even if I hadn't read your mind I can see it in your eyes. I know you, Geralt, do not forget that for a single moment, and I know when you are thinking about running.”

Geralt worked his jaw back and forth for a moment before staring at the floorboards and huffing through his nose. “You still could have said something. I can't read minds, Yen. How was I supposed to feel when you wouldn't talk to me?”

“Wouldn't talk to you?” she said, incredulous. “When did you try? Yes, I'll admit I've been distracted by Teya. Working some things out. I thought you were mature enough to do the same. I also did not say anything because I thought, after everything, after what I said to you before we took on the Hunt that you would realize I love you and I don't blame you for what you cannot help. I know what and who I chose, Geralt.”

That got his attention, and he looked up in surprise. 

Yennefer sighed, gentling in her entire posture as she reached up and caressed his jaw before gently brushing his hair back from his neck. “Geralt, I felt it in my heart and my body long ago that my condition is not fixable. It simply isn't. No matter what remedy, no matter what spell, I will never be able to bear children. I had my season of chasing men that made me feel like there might be a chance, and all I got was more cold beds and denial. I love you, Geralt, and I love Ciri. I've chosen you as my family, and that means whether you are on the path or off it, whether we can speak to each other or have these stupid spats, I will continue to love you.” 

She took a deep breath and Geralt felt the overwhelm of relief settle inside his chest and well up in his expression. He had thought he was mostly sober, but it seemed he was still drunk enough to want to cry at her admission.

“Oh Witcher,” she sighed, shaking her head and carding his hair back like he was a child that needed comforting. “Unless you wish to leave because you are no longer happy with me, do not think of it again. Understand?” 

Geralt swallowed thickly but could only nod. 

“Good.” She gripped his hand and squeezed. “Now clean up and come to bed. I spent too many nights without you already in this life, I do not intend to spend more because of a misunderstanding.”

Though they couldn't mess around partly because Geralt was still pretty drunk and partly because of Teya, they both undressed and curled up with one another. Teya slept safe in the crib Yennefer had bought only the day before, so when Ciri arrived at dawn the next morning with Eskel she found her parents the way she'd seen them more times than she would ever let them know: completely naked and completely asleep. 

“Well, some things don't change,” Eskel said from the doorway, snorting as he wandered into the foyer to look at all the swords and armors Geralt had on display. Ciri shook her head fondly and shut the door. She wouldn't wake them. They could discuss business when both woke naturally.


	2. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Eskel and Ciri finally there to help, Geralt tackles the centipede infestation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm not changing the rating but this one gets pretty gross when it comes to gore guys so fair warning. I mean, those centipedes are brutal and so are Witcher fighting styles.

“Ciri?” 

Though Yennefer's words the night before had soundly chastised him, Geralt didn't feel the stress of everything really fall away until he woke the next morning and walked into the foyer, confused by the smell that had roused him. There before him, plain as day, Ciri was placing breakfast on the table and Eskel was sitting with his boots up, gesturing at Geralt in a salute with a bottle of wine already in hand.

“There's the wolf, finally decided to get up huh?” Eskel ribbed, grinning wide. 

Ciri was beaming when she looked up and saw him, running over and jumping on him before he barely had time to brace. He was grinning too, wrapping her up in a hug and spinning her around once before setting her down. 

“I found him finally, waist deep in muck hunting rotfiends,” Ciri said, pointing at Eskel. “We both smelled like death so we took an extra day to clean up before coming out. Figured Yennefer would appreciate it.”

“I love you rotfiend guts or no,” Yennefer said, appearing in the doorway with nothing short of delight radiating from her features. She wrapped Ciri up in a hug before pulling away. “After all, I wouldn't have chosen to become part of a family of Witchers if I couldn't handle everything that comes with it.”

Geralt snorted. “Yen, even when I was sick off elixirs you forced me to take a cold bath because I'd been hunting a Zeugl in the garbage.”

“And you felt a lot better afterwards,” she said primly, taking an apple from the table and turning to look at him with one eyebrow raised. “The cold cleared your head and even if you hadn't smelled like the combined sewers of Temeria would you really have wanted to wake up covered in mud and blood twelve hours later?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and Yennefer took a bite of her apple, tossing her hair as she moved around the table to take Eskel's sword off of it and lean it against the chair instead. “I thought not.” 

Eskel took a long drink of the wine while he eyed Yennefer, protectively drawing his sword into his lap. Geralt shook his head and hid his smile, moving around the table to greet Eskel as well. His brother got up and clapped him on the back as they hugged, setting the wine on the table. 

“Good to see you. Both of you,” Geralt said, looking between Eskel and Ciri. 

“And you, though I do have to ask what has the white wolf so cornered that he needs two lowly Witchers to back him up? Has retirement softened you that much?” Eskel teased, sitting again and propping his feet on the chair. Yennefer shot him a disapproving look but he ignored her. 

“The only reason you don't have an obnoxious reputation and fifteen titles to go with it is because you don't have a bard that insisted on following you around,” Geralt said, crossing his arms and pointing at Eskel. “And Ciri is easily as good as both of us. But I'd like to see any Witcher handle an acre-wide centipede nest by himself and live to tell about it.”

Ciri grimaced. “Well. Looks like my training is going to come full circle then. First time we met I was about to become dinner for one of those things.” 

“Yeah, I remember. Then you spent the rest of our time in Brokilon bossing me around,” Geralt said, smiling. He would remember that journey clearly for the rest of his life. 

“Yes, well, I was a princess,” Ciri said, smirking a little and settling in the chair across from Eskel. 

“And now you're a Witcher, funny how things change.”

“Says the retired Wolf of Rivia,” Eskel said snidely over his wine. 

Geralt shot him a look. “You going to just keep cycling through my titles or have you had enough? I avoided finding Lambert for this very reason.”

“No, you avoided finding Lambert because you didn't want his sorceress tagging along. She clashes too much with your sorceress.”

Yennefer had returned, holding Teya and her morning bottle and she shot Eskel another look. 

Ciri, however, suddenly stood, looking wide-eyed at Yennefer with the baby in her arms. 

“Yennefer--”

“This is Teya,” Yennefer said, reading Ciri's shock and turning so she could see the little girl. “Her mother passed giving birth to her so we are caring for her until her father returns. Word was sent to him but it will be some time before he can get back from the Toussaint border.” 

“I see,” Ciri said softly, observing the baby feed and then looking up at Yennefer with a spark of concern in her eyes. She glanced at Geralt but he shook his head. 

We've already been through this, he tried to convey.

“So, centipedes, what do we need to do to prepare?” Eskel said. “I've heard the southern species out here gets bigger than the ones in Brokilon.” 

“All you need to do to prepare is get the veritable arsenal of bombs out of the wine cellar,” Yennefer said, sitting at the table and crossing her legs while she adjusted Teya to burp. She fixed Geralt with a pointed expression. 

“I had some time to kill waiting for Ciri to find you,” Geralt defended. 

Eskel chuckled. “Well then. Seems all we need is to head over and inspect the area. See what approach we want to take. Ciri and I rested at the inn where we cleaned up before heading over so unless she's tired from blinking us all over the world I can go whenever.” 

Ciri shook her head. “I'm fine. It's not so taxing when you're blinking for convenience instead of running for your life. And I will admit that Aveloch's training helped quite a bit.” 

“Alright,” Geralt said, getting up. “It's settled then. Let me change and we'll go.”

A short beat later and Geralt was dressed in his viper armor, slipping a freshly oiled blade into his sheath and allowing himself a moment to savor the sensation. It felt good to be going out again. On his way out to meet Ciri and Eskel by the stables Yennefer caught his wrist and stopped him in the doorway. She pulled him down and gave him a long kiss. 

“Be careful, my wolf,” she said, brushing his beard with her knuckles and pressing another kiss to his jaw before letting him go. “I want all of you back in one piece, understand?”

He nodded, smiling at her and reaching up to pick a bloom of honeysuckle from the vine that grew across the door-frame. He brushed her hair back behind one ear and pinned it with the flower, bending to kiss her once more. “I have the best Witchers in any land with me, we'll be fine.”

***

Eskel gave a long, low whistle, sitting back in the saddle. Scorpion snorted and tossed his head, but he stayed rock still.“That's a lot of damage.”

Geralt hummed in the back of his throat, his brow furrowed as they surveyed the landscape from the top of a hill where some of the centipede repellent was still active. He'd gone out to look at the hunting ground before, but the centipedes had made things worse in the interim. Festering limbs from unfortunate wildlife and even a few horses stank in the afternoon sun and the dark stain of thousands of crushed grapes turned the ground tacky and rough. It was like an infected wound in the earth, and the centipedes still rose and churned the dirt like feeding maggots. 

“They must be nesting, why else would there be so many in one place?” Ciri observed, her arms crossed as she thought from her spot on Kelpie's back.

“They are probably nesting,” Geralt agreed. “Which means that we will have to be even more careful. Males of this variety get territorial around breeding season, and when the breeding is done they are protective of the eggs. The females are twice as bad.” He narrowed his eyes, looking for an identifying mark before one of the massive insects poked its head up and then lunged, smearing an unfortunate rabbit across the field before dragging it down in its pincers. “There. That was a male. The longer mandibles give it away—they use them to spar for mates.” 

“And that's a female I'll bet,” Eskel said, nodding his head towards another that had just ventured above ground and was making its way towards the entrance of a different burrow. “Poison barbs on her back and head good for defending young.”

“The males have poison too, they just spit it at you,” Geralt said dryly. He'd been hit in the face with it before and it stung like acid. 

“Okay, so they have range and burrowing capability,” Ciri said. “But this scent seems to warn them away.” 

“Only as long as there isn't a threat. Dousing ourselves in it isn't going to do much good. They will fight back the second they realize we aren't what we smell like.”

“Then we start with bombs. Create a perimeter, corner them in the middle, use our combined Yrden to trap them and then go to town,” Eskel said. “They will go the opposite way of an explosion, so if we can detonate everything at once that should contain the threat.”

“And fry most of the eggs,” Ciri added. 

“Two birds, one explosion,” Eskel said, nodding.

“Sounds like a plan. We can have the knights watching the perimeter drop torches on the explosives we lay. Anything in between should detonate by chain reaction. We just have to make sure we are in the middle and ready to trap what we need to to take care of this. There will be dozens of them. Eskel, I'll brew up some white lightning. Ciri, you'll want to rely on your blink to get around them.” 

“I'm sure we can handle this,” Ciri said, clicking her tongue and turning Kelpie down the ridge. “I'll go and tell our allies the plan. Eskel, you lay the bombs while Geralt brews the lightning.” 

“Yes ma'am,” Eskel saluted teasingly, tapping Scorpion with his heels. Geralt smiled and shook his head, turning Roach last and trotting to a nearby grove where he could make a fire and brew in peace. 

Two hours later and they all met by the stream running just north of Geralt's grove. He was kneeling with glass bottles held in the water, rapidly cooling and curing his and Eskel's potions. He got up when Ciri and Eskel approached, tossing Eskel his bottle. 

“We set to go?” 

“Let me add some oil to my blade and then yes,” Ciri said, unsheathing her sword and kneeling to buff it with a rag soaked in poison. Geralt and Eskel both drank their potions and knelt with her, waiting for them to kick in. 

Just as the sun was beginning to sink towards the evening all three Witchers were ready. They stood on the fringe of the field, swords drawn, bodies tense. Geralt raised a hand, waiting for the right moment. Ciri stepped one foot forward and gave a confident nod. He dropped his hand and all at once explosions rocked the perimeter, fire and ash and rocks shooting skyward one after the other in a massive ring. High-pitched screeching from wounded centipedes filled the air and a frantic rumbling scatter followed as they fled away from the source of the pain. The fire burned hot at the Witchers' backs as they advanced. 

Eskel and Geralt split ways, leaving Ciri in the center. They cast Yrden together just as the first males came bursting up, spitting venom and flailing wildly. They seized in the trap of purple magic but were far from neutralized, so Ciri blinked in close and cut both down with a figure-eight sweep of her sword.

Everything after that was a blur. Geralt cut low, Eskel high, pirouetting towards and then away from each other as they guarded each others blind spots with a deadly efficiency. Flashes of Yrden, a crash of Aard, and then a wave of Igni beat the beasts back, limiting their ability to cut and pierce with their mandibles and razor-fringed legs. Ciri stepped in and out of time with a terrifying grace, leaving a blur of green and the spill of viscera all over the field. 

Even so, the fight was fraught with difficulty. Geralt narrowly avoided spit poison several times and a few minutes in Eskel suffered a harsh blow to his left leg when one of the centipedes flailed in its death throw hard enough to slam him onto his back. Geralt had ducked and rolled beneath two others to leap over Eskel and block the killing blow with his sword, stepping around and bending to yank him up in one fluid motion before blocking again. 

The fight went on longer than any had fully anticipated. The infestation was absolutely massive and the explosives had not done as much damage as Geralt had hoped. The end did seem to be in sight when a particularly enraged female burst so harshly through the ground that it knocked Geralt on his back and the wind clean out of him. He jarred hard enough that his sword went skittering away and he tensed, arching his back as he tried to breathe. 

“Geralt!” Eskel called, hacking hard at his current foe and leaping over another, beheading it with a clean sweep before hitting, rolling, and continuing to run to his brother's side. Ciri was there before he could be, taking on the young queen herself, slicing half her face off with an upward arch of silver. With a new target to focus on, the queen let Geralt be, turning instead on Ciri. 

Seeing that Geralt was still having trouble breathing and worried about broken ribs, Eskel grabbed Geralt's armor and pulled him backwards, dragging him to a safer spot. Geralt shook his head, gripping Eskel's wrist.

“-fine, I'm fine,” he finally managed to gasp out, getting up with Eskel's help. “Go, get the male guard on the left. I'll help Ciri with the queen,” Geralt said, gesturing towards the three males that had stirred up the ground closer to Eskel. He took off at a sprint, defending Ciri last minute from a barb shot arrowlike from the queen's ruined face. 

“I've got her back, keep her distracted,” Ciri said, flitting around before tensing to blink. 

“Ciri, wait!” Geralt cried, seeing a fourth guard rearing up behind the queen. If Ciri blinked now, the male would connect with her in mid strike. 

It was too late. 

Ciri disappeared in a flash, the guard shot ahead, and Geralt had no time to do anything except hurl a blast of Aard in their direction to try and break the attack before it could connect. He was only partially successful, and the arm he'd thrown up left his entire left side vulnerable. 

The queen struck, hitting him hard in the side with her head. He was knocked backwards and watched the end of the moment from his place on the ground, once again trying to breathe though this time it was like his lung was stuck rather than empty. He flipped himself over in a rush of adrenaline and stepped nimbly over the queen's backlash attack, this time planting his sword square through her head and driving it into the ground. Pinned, she writhed, dislodging Eskel from the place he'd taken just to her right, defending Ciri's fallen position. With a quick flash of his silver sword the fight was over. 

Geralt wasted no time rushing to Ciri, gripping her arm and looking over her with wide eyes, shaking her slightly. “Ciri, Ciri can you hear me?” he asked frantically, pulling his gloves off with his teeth so he could feel for a pulse. He ignored the foul taste of centipede blood that was now in his mouth, too relieved to feel his daughter's pulse under his fingers. She groaned and lifted her head, huffing a disappointed sigh as she gripped Geralt's forearm and sat up. “You both finished the fight without me, didn't you?”

Eskel came over and planted his sword at his side, wiping a smearing of gore and venom off his face and onto his sleeve. “Don't worry, I think at least half of these were your work,” he assured. 

Geralt, relieved it was over and Ciri was alright, plopped back to sit in the dirt, rubbing his face with his hand. “Yennefer is going to kill me.”

“She'll get over it,” Eskel snorted. “Just have Ciri tell the story, right swallow?” Eskel teased, nudging Ciri with his boot. Ciri did not laugh. Her eyes were wide, fixed on something in Geralt's side. 

“Geralt?” she whispered, her eyes darting up to his face. Geralt frowned, looking first at her and then down. For a moment the shock kept him from feeling anything, then a penetrating pain shot through his entire torso as his fingers came away bloody. 

One of the queen's venomous mandibles was protruding from his side.


	3. Blood and Venom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer, Ciri, and Eskel work quickly to try and save Geralt from the damage done during the hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm upping the rating and adding a few tags. This chapter got *bloody* folks.

Yennefer knew something was wrong long before Ciri appeared in the courtyard with an unsteady Geralt leaning on her, his blood smearing both their sides. She had always been connected to him, but that connection had only gotten stronger as the cares of court had faded and her walls against him had crumbled away. 

“Get him inside, lay him down. I must see how bad the damage is,” she said curtly. She'd already stripped their bed and lined it with new linen, unwilling to combat an infection on top of whatever horrors Geralt was about to face. He looked far too pale and the spear of a centipede's barbed mandible was protruding from between his ribs, lodged deep enough that she could see it shift as he struggled to breathe. 

Ciri, if possible, was paler than Geralt as she blinked him into the bedroom in a flash of green and numbly helped him lay down, her fingers slipping from his body as though she couldn't quite bear to let him go completely. Yennefer cupped her face for the briefest of moments, forcing Ciri's fear-struck eyes up to look into her own. 

“Listen to me, ugly one. He will not die. Go and bring Eskel back, have him brew swallow and golden oriel. There are herbs in the garden.”

Ciri looked at Yennefer for only a moment before she nodded and disappeared. Yennefer dropped her hand, gazing into empty space for a heartbeat before turning to Geralt. She'd already changed into a simple shirt, vest, and trousers, rolling the sleeves up and tying the front of her hair back to be ready for whatever mess this would make. She'd had Geralt's blood on her hands before. She knew what a massacre's worth of blood could coat the place where a life was being saved. 

“Lie still, try to breathe shallow,” Yennefer coaxed, standing over him and sparking a purple glow between her fingers. She hovered her hand over his chest, just barely skimming his armor as she sought the fine weave of muscle and nerve and vein that formed his body. Under her hand his lungs struggled and pain receptors flared, tissue torn cruelly by serrated barbs burning from poison and gushing little spurts of blood into his lung. 

The wound was deep. Very deep. She lay her palm with a feather's touch against his side and he hissed, his spine arching as his muscles contracted, trying to worm away from the pain. His eyes closed tightly and he worked his jaw, his teeth grinding. Yennefer took his hand in her free one, the noise he made piercing her heart.

“Hush,” she tried to soothe. “Hush, my love lie still. It's punctured your lung, there's poison leeching from the pores....I must remove it but I need to be sure it will not sever an artery on the way out.” 

It took a surge of effort on Geralt's part but he managed to quiet, gripping Yennefer's hand in a painful clasp and breathing shallow and harsh through his nose as he tried to manage the pain. 

Yennefer let him hold her hand and probed deeper, her eyes flashing violet as she felt around the wound, threading tendrils of magic down around the mandible and into the horribly torn tissues beyond, numbing some of the pain to give him the chance to compartmentalize it and actually draw enough oxygen to stay conscious. 

“I can remove it,” she said after a moment, finding no arteries in danger. “But we must wait until Eskel returns with the swallow. Else you will be unable to breathe long enough for the wound to close.” 

Geralt groaned, turning his head into her hand as she stroked his hair and tried to soothe him. She kept one hand by the wound, numbing as much as she could. She couldn't start trying to heal with the mandible still in place. That would only cause more damage as the muscles and lung moved around it. 

She was worried about his lung. Blood would froth from the wound the moment the mandible was free and he was already coughing weakly, nearly blacking out from the pain as blood trickled from the side of his mouth and the invasive spine grated against a rib. Her lips trembled as she pressed them together and her eyes sought his face. 

“I know, my love. Soon.” She reached up her free hand, smoothing it along his brow. “Sleep,” she whispered, her eyes flaring with power as she forced him into unconsciousness. She ran her hand slowly down the side of his face and brushed his throat as his eyes rolled back in his head and he sighed, the sound giving her chills. It was a very final sound, and she would have feared that he'd left her only she could hear his heart still pumping deep inside, swathed in its cradle of metal and muscle and bone, unaware yet of the poison slowly seeping into it.

She kept him under, listening to that unsteady beat and feeling his ribs shudder with every labored breath. It was only her constant flow of magic that kept the pain numbed and the blood from flooding his lung and drowning him. She could only keep this up for so long. 

“Hurry,” she murmured, looking into Geralt's slack face, at the blood and centipede gore streaking him, at the sweat and the way his brow was twisted in pain even in his sleep. She'd never wanted to see that again. “Hurry, Eskel.” 

The process of extracting the mandible was horrible and gruelingly bloody. In order to get him to swallow without choking further, Yennefer had to draw Geralt out of his rest, and he was struggling mightily to focus through the burning in his blood. 

The poison was still leeching into his system, and though he was equipped to handle high toxicity levels Yennefer knew by the darkness coloring around his eyes and the steadily graying veins near the surface of his skin that he was reaching the fringe of his limits. They fed him the golden oriel first, hoping it would be general enough to take the edge off. A specific anti-venom would have been better but no such thing existed since centipede venom killed a human in two minutes and nobody cared enough about Witchers to spend time and money in order to invent a cure just for them. 

The swallow came next, and Geralt's body shuddered against it, though he did manage to get it down. “How long will it take his body to metabolize it?” Yennefer asked, steadying Geralt and focusing on numbing deeper, trying to contain the burning enough that Geralt could lay still and keep from jostling the barb around more. 

“A few minutes,” Eskel said hollowly, his eyes fixed on Geralt. Ciri was standing next to him, visibly wanting to go to Geralt but not wanting to hinder Yennefer's progress on him. 

“When it's active, you'll need to hold him down. I do not have time to numb the area without magic and when I remove it I will be using my healing energy to keep the blood from suffocating him. I won't be able to keep the pain at bay at the same time. He will need my magic and the potion working together if he is going to survive this,” Yenenfer said, looking at both Witchers with an expression of finality. The fear sat on each of them like a cloak but nobody voiced it and nobody protested.

They would do what they had to. 

“Now,” Eskel said softly, his hands bracing Geralt's shoulders as Ciri leaned hard on his legs. 

Yennefer didn't hesitate. She gripped the mandible and pulled it free in one tug, her eyes burning violet as Geralt gave a wrenching roar of pain. His muscles all clenched at once and then suddenly he was limp, passed out from the overwhelm. Yennefer threw the mandible to the ground, the spell already on her lips as she pressed her palm into the hole, his blood surging hot around her hand. 

His breathing was ragged and shallow, his face white as his hair around the veins running black beneath it. Blood gurgled in the back of his mouth and Ciri pushed on his legs, helping Eskel roll him onto his good side without even needing to communicate about it. Yennefer finished her spell and her hands flew to his head, turning it gently and placing a hand on his throat and then his chest to help him cough up the blood and mucus so he wouldn't choke on it. His body shuddered and there was blood everywhere but after a few moments of struggle he hacked up the last of the irritants in his lung and lay still.

He was still far too pale, and Yennefer didn't dare relax. The sheets were smeared with gore and Geralt was filthy, still very much at risk of infection if they didn't get him cleaned up.

“Eskel, help me undress him. Ciri, run a bath.” 

Both jumped to obey. Eskel made quick work of Geralt's armor and lifted the unconscious witcher, Geralt's once white head falling back limply before Yennefer's hand flew up to steady it. He looked horrible, and the unsteady, too fast nature of his heart's cadence worried her deeply. 

“Get him into the bath, help Ciri clean him up,” Yennefer commanded. “I will get rid of this and prepare bandages.” 

Eskel nodded and carried his brother out. 

Ciri was just throwing the last of the herbs into the bath when Eskel carried Geralt into the room, and she reached out to help him lower his unconscious body into the water. It was warm, heated with Ciri's own magic and churning with herbs that would help kill bacteria and numb pain. 

“I'll get in with him, hold him up. You fetch the cloth and help me wash him,” Eskel offered, already stripping his jacket and sword belt off. Ciri nodded, having shed most of her battle gear and changed shirts while she was waiting to try and be as sanitary as possible. It was difficult, seeing him like this. He was so, so pale and his eyes were sunken, like he'd been dead for two days already. It scared her. 

Eskel got gingerly into the tub, sitting down behind Geralt and wrapping an arm carefully around his chest, keeping him comfortably upright and his wound from becoming submerged completely. His bloodied head rest against Eskel's shoulder, unsteady breathing brushing across Eskel's neck in too short and too shallow puffs. 

Together, Ciri and Eskel slowly washed the blood and dirt and poison from Geralt's skin. 

By the end of it he seemed to be breathing a little easier and the wound in his side didn't look so raggedly toxic. Ciri had taken great pains to cleanse it thoroughly, and though she'd seen and inflicted much worse injuries it still took something visceral out of her when she thumbed back a layer of torn flesh and realized the hard, warm thing that pressed into her thumb was her father's exposed rib. She'd paled so badly she felt light headed and she had to stop, gripping the side of the tub and staring at him for a long several moments before Eskel's touch on her wrist and his concerned voice finally broke through. 

The swallow had stopped the worst of the bleeding and kept Geralt from suffocating, but the surface injury was dire and more complex than a potion could instantly mend. There were grooves dug cruelly into his rib where the mandible had pulled free and the muscle was torn terribly. The golden oriel didn't seem to be working as well as she'd hoped either. He was still far too pale and when she washed the sweat from his chest she could feel his heartbeat far too rapid beneath. 

“He's tough, he'll make it. He's survived a lot worse—just pick a scar, especially the one on his throat. He was luckier than anyone has a right to be on that one,” Eskel assured, seeing the shocked expression on Ciri's face and trying to console himself too. He and Geralt had gone through the trails together. That made them more than brothers, and even if that wasn't enough Geralt and Lambert were the only family he had left. Vesimir's passing and the fall of Kaer Morhen had left him feeling more alone than he'd ever wanted to admit. 

“It's not the wound that worries me, it's the venom,” Ciri admitted, wringing out the last cloth and rinsing her hands in the remains of the bath water as Eskel carried Geralt out of it. “He's far too pale, and his heart is working too hard.” 

Eskel bent gingerly, laying Geralt on a clean blanket and wrapping him up before taking a moment to hop into a clean pair of trousers. He sighed, bending to gently work at drying around Geralt's wound. The other witcher was still deeply unconscious. “I know, I can hear it,” he said grimly, resting his hand against Geralt's chest and glancing over him with those sharp eyes. He didn't like what he was seeing. “Probably a reaction to all the potions and the venom. It's going to be a rough detox.” He finished drying Geralt and Ciri helped him get Geralt partially dressed. 

“I'll sew him up,” Eskel offered, glancing at Ciri with concern in his yellow eyes. “You go ahead and get cleaned up. Isn't good to leave that junk on your skin.” 

Ciri's expression was torn, a hint of guilt darkening her concern.

“It's alright, you can take first watch over him when we take him back to Yennefer.” 

She pressed her lips together but finally nodded, pulling her shirt over her head. Eskel turned away and focused on the wound, noting that Geralt would need a few layers of stitches. He sighed through his nose, retrieving the needle and thread. “Sorry brother,” he muttered before he got to work. 

An hour and a half since the extraction, Geralt was bathed, bandaged, and resting in his own bed. Yennefer had changed the sheets again, taking the soiled ones out back with instructions to the groundskeeper to burn them. She'd begun cleaning up the rest of the room when Eskel returned, and she'd been far more concerned about Geralt than the blood on the floor where it had dripped from his side on the way in. 

“Lay him down, let me look,” she said, re-assessing the damage after she'd thoroughly scrubbed her hands and arms and changed out of her bloodied clothes. Those had gone on the burn pile as well. 

Her brow furrowed as she placed a hand on his forehead. He was too warm. Feverish. She swore softly and swept her hair over her shoulder, laying her ear against his chest. She closed her eyes and listened carefully for several harsh breaths, her expression tight when she lifted her head again.

“The poison, it's really getting to him, isn't it?” Ciri asked from her spot by the doorway, her arms folded and her brow furrowed as she looked on. “Even with the oriel—I thought he'd be doing better than this.”

“As did I,” Yennefer admitted, carding his hair back from his forehead. “But the toxicity in his blood is also very high at present. He will need to wait it out. Adding anything else to his system, even white honey right now I fear would be too much.” 

Her voice was very soft and Ciri didn't like it. Didn't like seeing any of this because if Yennefer was worried and showing it then things were dire. She went forward and sat next to Yennefer, taking her hand and clasping it as they both looked on. 

Geralt's condition did not improve over night. He was still feverish and muttering, twitching lightly by dawn. His heart had worked too quickly and too hard all night, and the darkness in his veins had only paled because his skin had become flushed with fever. The wound site seemed irritated, though Yennefer could find no sign of infection. She was at a loss, her magic scanning telling her something was still deeply wrong but unable to pinpoint what it was. Her heart was tearing, and it manifested in a smoldering anger. 

She'd never been a healer. She couldn't bear children and she wasn't made to sustain life through her magic either, it seemed. Not even the life of the man dearest her supposedly icy heart. 

It wasn't until she returned to the room for the sixth time that morning with fresh water that she noticed something laying dark and ragged near the unicorn's hoof. Slowly, glancing over at the bed where Ciri had fallen asleep with her head on Geralt's shoulder and her hand resting on his arm, she knelt and picked it up. Her nose wrinkled when she realized it was the mandible, sticky with Geralt's blood and other fluids. 

She took it outside and was just about to discard it when something caught her eye. Frowning, she turned it in the early light and examined it more closely. What she found made her blood run cold. 

The poisoned tip was missing.


	4. Visenna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer puts everything aside to ask for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay this was *hard*. I've wanted to explore this relationship for a long, long time but it's so complicated I had a lot of decisions to make. I still have a lot I want to happen, but I thought this wasn't a bad place to stop. 
> 
> Warnings for descriptions of surgery in this chapter.

For a long time, she just stood there. The early sunlight touched the mandible, highlighting every sharp edge and deadly divot. Slowly, her fingers numb, she turned the hollow appendage and looked into the end. It was empty. The venom sac had pulled free and was still attached to the tip. She cursed and hurled the thing as far as she could throw it, her mind working furiously.

If there was an entire sac of venom still inside Geralt's chest cavity it must still be attached to the tip or else it would have flooded his system and he'd be dead already. She would have to keep him very still, and the extraction was far beyond something she had the skill to treat. The dryads may be able to help, but moving Geralt even by Ciri's teleport was just too dangerous. Someone would have to come to them. Yennefer's lips went white as she pressed them together and anger filled her like a thunderstorm, an anger she carefully folded up and kept behind her violet eyes.

There had to be another way. Any other way. Triss. A Toussaint healer. Anybody, anything but _her_.

Yennefer knew there was no other way, and she would not lose Geralt.

Carefully composing herself, she went back inside, standing at the end of the bed to give herself one moment to look at he and Ciri. Then she squared her shoulders, held her head high, and walked around to the side where Ciri was still sleeping with her head on Geralt's shoulder.

“Ciri,” she said softly, squeezing the witcheress' shoulder. Ciri blinked blearily and her hand tensed on Geralt for a moment before she visibly relaxed and looked at Yennefer. Her brow furrowed and she rubbed at her eyes.

“Yennefer?”

“Come.”

Ciri really looked concerned then, and she glanced once more at Geralt before she obeyed, following Yennefer out into the foyer and then into the front courtyard. Yennefer retrieved the mandible, giving it over to Ciri before clasping both her daughter's wrists. Ciri looked from the mandible up to Yennefer's face, her own showing the fear that was building. “Yennefer, you're scaring me.”

“Geralt has little time, and I cannot heal him,” Yennefer said, forcing her voice to be steady, forcing herself to be strong. This was a mask she wore most of her life. If it was going to save Geralt she could wear it a while longer. “The venom sac pulled free of the mandible, and the tip is missing. Both are still inside him. If it bursts, he will die. But there is someone who can save him.”

“Who?” Ciri asked, her voice and expression openly distressed. She never had mastered that part of Yennefer's teaching.

Yennefer swallowed the lump trying to tie itself in her throat and reached up to touch Ciri's temple, transferring an image she'd seen in Geralt's mind years ago when he was miserable with fever. “Her. You must find her, my daughter. Give her the mandible. Tell her what's happened.”

Ciri squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and shook her head, processing the image before blinking her eyes open and fixing Yennefer with a puzzled look. “Who is she, how will I find her? How will I convince her to return with me?”

“You will find her because you must,” Yennefer said softly, caressing Ciri's cheek. “And she will come with you because she must.”

“What is her name?”

“Visenna.”

Ciri sought Yennefer's face, seeing the barest cracks in Yennefer's careful expression. “Who is she?”

“She is Geralt's mother.”

Alone in the courtyard, Yennefer took a moment to bury her face in her hands. But only a moment. Then she was back, the steel in her spine as she went to Ciri's room and woke Eskel.

“Geralt is in more danger than we realized,” she told him as he got up and pulled a shirt over his head. “The venom sac is still inside him. I sent Ciri for someone who has the skill to remove it, but you must watch over Geralt until she returns. Keep him very still. Whatever that takes. I cannot put him under magically—he is too resistant to it and he is too delicate. I need to prepare.”

Eskel's eyes went wide but he did not argue. He was down the stairs in a moment and he disappeared into the bedroom.

In all the chaos Yennefer had not forgotten Teya. Quite the opposite in fact, the little girl had been in the back of her mind constantly. When she'd first felt something had gone wrong with the hunt she'd taken Teya to the eldest woman who oversaw the vineyard, knowing she had three daughters of her own and would take careful care of the infant. It was to this woman's quarters that Yennefer now went.

She knocked and Eurydice quickly answered, Teya held against one shoulder. “Oh mistress Yennefer,” she gasped, backing up and ushering the sorceress inside. “How is the master?”

Yennefer sighed, reaching out to receive Teya. “He fares poorly, Eurydice,” she admitted, rocking Teya gently and taking comfort from the baby's warmth. “He needs more help than I can give him.”

Eurydice looked genuinely crestfallen, and she reached out a hand to squeeze Yennefer's arm. At one time, Yennefer may have thrown such a touch but she'd grown fond of the vineyard's keeper. “Oh, sweetheart. Will he—do you think it's his time?”

Yennefer's eyes hardened then and she shook her head. “He will not die.”

Eurydice's eyes were sad, but she didn't argue. “I'll make some breakfast. I doubt you've eaten since he returned from that hunt.”

Yennefer sank into a chair, realizing how bone weary she was all of the sudden. Eurydice was right of course, Yennefer hadn't even thought about food.

It took four days for Ciri to return. In that time Yennefer prepared. She turned the kitchen into a medic's operating room, cleansing every surface possible, sharpening tools, brewing herbs. She needn't have worried about Geralt moving. On the morning of day two the fever leveled out and he went still as a corpse. When she tried to read his mind, she could find barely anything there. He still breathed, but the color was gone from his body and it was difficult enough to get water into his failing system. Eskel watched over him day and night, his Witcher's stamina letting him go without sleep, though the weariness was evident in his eyes.

When Ciri finally returned, it was the middle of the night. Yennefer felt a change in the magic of the place and ran out of Geralt's room, having left Teya with Eurydice to ensure the girl had care no matter what happened. Ciri immediately ran to her, grabbing Yennefer's arm. The sorceress couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Ciri so frightened.

“Yennefer, I tried, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to risk getting us lost by going back too far in time, this was the closest I could get. Is he--”

“He lives,” Yennefer assured, her eyes breaking from Ciri to look at the woman behind her.

Visenna's red hair was bleached by the Toussaint moonlight, and she stood there with her head high and back straight. Her skin was pale and freckled and young, like all sorceresses. She looked no older than thirty, and though there was no evidence left on her body that she'd carried a child Yennefer could see Geralt in her face. Her cheekbones, the shape of her eyes, even the curve of her shoulders, though much more delicate, evoked her son's posture. Not even Visenna's magical youth or Geralt's mutations could tear the resemblance apart.

Yennefer believed in a woman's right to decide what happened in her own life. She always had, but with Visenna she found she couldn't be so diplomatic. Everything in her urged to send the woman away, to rebuke her for throwing away something so precious, for rejecting the one thing Yennefer had always wanted and could never have. The very last thing she wanted to do was ask help from the woman who'd abandoned Geralt to a Witcher's life, but she had no choice. And she would not lose Geralt to her own anger.

“Visenna,” Yennefer said softly, instead of all the things she wanted to say, squeezing Ciri's arm and moving around her.

“Where is he?” Visenna asked, a careful measure in her voice. Yennefer could see the concern in the other sorceress's eyes, could see the near imperceptible way she tightened her hand on the strap crossing her chest.

Yennefer, gestured. “Inside. He has not moved for near three days.”

Inside, Eskel tensed as the three women entered, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at the newcomer. Yennefer put up a hand. “Eskel, peace. She is here to help.”

Eskel got up from where he was laying next to Geralt, standing slowly and rounding the bed the way a predator did stalking prey. His shoulders were tense and Visenna met his eyes without flinching. He looked at Visenna long and hard, then something clicked in his eyes and he looked down at Geralt, then back up. For a split second there was surprise, then rage replaced it.

“What do you think you're doing here?” he demanded, moving so quickly only Ciri was able to track him. In an instant his hands were twisted in Visenna's dress and he had her picked up, pressed hard against the dresser. She startled and grabbed his wrists, but didn't try to struggle away.

“Eskel, _stop_. Put her down,” Yennefer commanded, her eyes alight with anger of her own now.

“Give me one good reason!” He shook the sorceress. “My mother died and I was taken as payment for a debt my father couldn't pay. The merchant who took me decided I was too much trouble so Vesimir took me in. That's how I ended up at Kaer Morhen. But Geralt told me about _you_. You had a choice. A temple, anything. But you dumped him on the steps of Kaer Morhen not knowing if he would survive. Three in ten! Three in ten of those boys survived! In our group it was two! _Two_ , Visenna! Me and him! What did you hope, that the trials would kill him and you wouldn't have to think about his screams?!” he shouted, and Yennefer grabbed his shoulder at this point, her eyes flashing.

“Eskel, put her down. She is a healer, without her Geralt will die.”

He ground his teeth and didn't break eye contact with the sorceress. Visenna stared back at him, her eyes sad. But she said nothing.

Finally, he slowly let her down, his face twisted in a sneer. He spat at her feet and stormed out. Ciri tore herself away and followed him. Visenna flinched, but she did not react otherwise, hesitating only a moment before moving forward and finally looking at Geralt.

Yennefer stood at the edge of the room, arms folded as Visenna sat at Geralt's side, laying her hand against his brow. Again the urge to banish her, to stop her from even touching him welled up inside Yennefer and she quashed it. She could deal with everything later.

Visenna's hands were gentle, her movements practiced. She examined him silently for several minutes, peeling back bandages, listening to his breathing and to his heart. “I can remove this, but he may already be too weak to purge the rest of the venom. Her voice was carefully emotionless.

“Pray he is not,” Yennefer said softly. Visenna met her eyes for the briefest moment and a silent exchange went between them.

“I will do everything in my power.”

“Yes,” Yennefer said. “You will.”

The surgery needed all four of them, so while Visenna prepared her own tools in the kitchen Ciri moved Geralt with Eskel and Yennefer ensured they had everything they needed. She and Visenna spoke in low tones, Visenna directing and Yennefer limiting her responses only to suggestions on how she could help.

By the time they got Geralt on his stomach and settled, there was a plan. Eskel would watch to keep Geralt still through Axii and brute force if needed. Ciri would get anything the two sorceresses needed, Yennefer would help keep Geralt calm and stop the bleeding, and Visenna's entire focus would be to get the venom tip out of Geralt's back.

It had settled close to his spine, and getting between his ribs and around all of the tendons and nerves with minimal damage was the challenge. It was relatively close to the surface and thankfully not lodged in his lung, but behind it. Every breath in pressed on the venom sac and leeched a little more into his system. Getting it out and saving his life was primary, but even a retired Witcher still needed his nervous system intact and if the sac were to burst, it would eat acid like through several important nerves. He could end up paralyzed, if he survived.

Visenna's eyes glowed with a white magic as she placed a hand on Geralt's bare back, the barest flicker of something showing in them and in her pressed lips as she touched the claw marks that hadn't been there the last time she'd treated him. Yennefer stood by, her hand on his head, and said nothing.

“You must all follow my instruction precisely,” Visenna said, looking up at each of them, especially lingering on Eskel. “Without cooperation anything going wrong will kill him.”

Eskel's jaw clenched but he gave a stiff nod. Yennefer's eyes began to glow.

Visenna made the first cut.

It seemed to take forever. Meticulous cuts deeper and deeper into Geralt's back, peeling back skin, then fat and muscle and finally revealing bone. She had to cut slightly away from the actual site for fear of puncturing the sac. Eventually, the black-tipped spine of the mandible pressed up between red strands of muscle, a drop of pure green welling up at its end as Geralt took another breath. Visenna quickly caught it with a cloth and wiped it away, pressing her knife and her fingers into the wound to pull apart the muscle until she could see the sac. It was still swollen with venom, and that both gave Yennefer hope and set a grim line to her lips. Less than she'd feared was in Geralt's system, but they still had to extract the rest.

“Yennefer, hold his ribs open so I can remove it without placing pressure on the gland,” Visenna instructed. Yennefer stroked her hand across Geralt's head as she slipped her hand from him, moving across from Visenna to work her fingers into Geralt's wound and keep it open. Blood seeped around her fingers and another drop of venom welled. Visenna quickly dabbed all of it away and discarded the rag before she paused, looking at Eskel. “Can you use Axii to still his breathing for a moment?”

“This weak, I'm thinking about using Axii to convince him to keep breathing.”

She gave one nod, waiting until Eskel made the sign with one hand and pressed his palm against Geralt's temple. “Everyone be still, Ciri, ensure he does not move.”

Slipping one finger in behind the mandible, Visenna muttered an incantation and her eyes glowed, a shimmering field surrounding the tip and the venom sac. With a jerk she pulled it free, holding it in her palm only long enough to make sure she got all of it. When she saw that it was intact she threw it to the ground and then things moved quickly. “Ciri, stop the bleeding. Eskel, get a new dose of golden oriel into him, Yennefer, help me sew him up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Eskel is marked as being level headed, but I picture him and Geralt as having a special bond. They went through the trials together. They are on the same skill level. They both grieved Vesimir in a similar way I think. They are about the only Witchers left, besides Lambert and a few scattered members from other schools. If there's one thing Eskel would lose his head over, I think it's in defense of Geralt.


	5. The Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is on his own in the fight now, and there's nothing for them to do but wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIVEEEEEE. 
> 
> Okay but actually hi. I know it's been an age, but this story was never abandoned. I just lost the thread and frankly writing Visenna and Yennefer is really really really difficult and I want to do it right. I still have ideas, I think I have my focus back on some of the things I want to do, I just have to decide how. This chapter is short but take it as a weak wave from the mound of rubble that is my writing brain on this story that I'm still chipping away.

Ciri sat with him all night and well into the dawn. 

After the surgery there’d been a flurry of obedient activity, and then, abruptly, there was nothing else to be done. Just the waiting. Just the awful, painful waiting. 

Waiting to see if Geralt would improve. Waiting to see if he’d wake. Waiting to see if he’d be there when he did. There was no real knowledge of what this kind of venom did to a man because nobody survived it. 

Ciri closed her hand tighter on her father’s wrist and ground her teeth as she watched him. She refused to think about that possibility. Geralt would wake and he’d be fine. He’d be himself again. There was no other option. 

Yennefer went back to Teya. 

The baby was warm against her breast, the weight, the smell of her a balm that managed to calm Yennefer’s twisting thoughts. She sighed, resting her head back in the rocking chair under Eurydice's roof, grateful for the distraction and the distance. Ciri would watch over Geralt, Yennefer knew, and being by his side wouldn’t help just then. In the quiet left in the waiting her heart had turned back to fear and anger, and she didn’t want him to wake up to that.

Fear that he wouldn’t wake up.

Anger at Visenna that Yennefer was finding harder and harder to ignore. 

She tightened her grip on Teya and closed her eyes. 

Eskel paced with a bottle until exhaustion shut him down. 

Action was the only way he knew how to deal with things, and with Geralt’s surgery over with there was nothing left for him to fight. He could tell Ciri needed time alone and frankly he was starting to have trouble seeing straight he was so tired. 

And he couldn’t be around Geralt. No matter how tired he got his senses didn’t dull like he wanted them to, so he was plagued by the smell of his brother’s blood, of the poison making it bitter, of the rusty persistence that soaked into the creases of the house that couldn’t be scrubbed clean.

The sound was even worse. Geralt’s heartbeat was weak, unsteady, and Eskel had heard too many dying heartbeats to fool himself. Maybe Geralt would come of out of it, maybe he wouldn’t. But he couldn’t listen to that struggle a moment longer. It reminded him too much of the people he’d lost already. Too much of Vesimir. Of Coen. Of the other boys he and Geralt had suffered next to. He still remembered the haze of waking in piss and vomit and realizing it had gone so quiet he could hear his own heartbeat. He’d sat up in the middle of eight small, tortured corpses and one other living boy. He’d looked into Geralt’s yellow eyes, heard his child’s heart fluttering with the same panic Eskel was feeling, and knew nobody else would ever be able to understand. 

He’d grown up next to Geralt. Shared his bunk in secret when the nightmares got too bad, sharpened his skills against Geralt’s own. They’d made each other better, and Eskel grew used to that steady heartbeat and dry wit at his side while they endured training. 

He took another long, stinging swallow of wine and remembered hearing the difference as they both went through growing up. A lot of people seemed to think that witcher children survived the trials and that was it--but they were only just beginning to grow into men and the mutations took proper root as they went through puberty. Growth spurts had been painful and at times shocking, heavier muscle mass and denser bone filling them both out, making each blow they took less and less significant. Their children’s hearts had developed and grown slower every year until they reached a witcher’s maturity: one heartbeat for every four of a man their peer. 

Even when they split off as adults and took to the path alone Eskel felt a kinship to Geralt that surpassed other witchers even from his own school. Geralt was his brother, and he would not sit at his brother’s side and listen to his heart fail.

He finally passed into a dreamless sleep by late morning. 

Visenna watched. 

After ensuring there was nothing more she could do for Geralt, she’d quietly left the room without sparing a second glance at Ciri. She didn’t need one. She could see the life, the people her son had built around himself. She took everything in with a quiet observation, lingering long enough to understand and then moving on. 

She ran her fingers over his swords, touched the dents in his armor, reached out to brush the frayed edges of a tunic where the armor had been breached. She thought back to his body and placed the scar. 

Still so many scars she did not know. 

She made her careful way around the house, and she observed the evidence of the life he’d lived without her. 

It was early afternoon when Ciri approached Visenna in the garden.

“Why did you do it?”

Visenna paused, sitting slowly back on her heels and closing her eyes. She drew a deep breath and turned to look over her shoulder at Ciri. The young woman was visibly upset, her arms crossed, her expression a mixture of worry and anger. Visenna took a long moment to brush her hands free of dirt and stand, slowly putting the herbs she’d harvested into her bag. She’d been working on healing draughts for hours, thinking ahead to what else Geralt’s body would need to recover. 

“Why?” she asked quietly, meeting Ciri’s eyes at last. 

“Yes,” Ciri said, her voice tight. “Why did you leave him? Yennefer told me you’re his mother. She told me you let him live and then gave him over to the Witchers without a second glance. Why give him birth at all if you were going to abandon him?” she demanded. “Do you have any idea the life he’s had?” 

Visenna stood silently, her expression unreadable, the sad calm in her eyes ice to Ciri’s fire. “It doesn’t matter,” she answered at last, dropping her gaze and walking past the witcheress towards the house. Ciri’s hand snapped out and grabbed Visenna’s arm, her expression fierce.

“No, it does matter.” Her fingers tightened, and Visenna looked at them, then up at the face of the girl she supposed was her granddaughter. “Why?” Ciri demanded again, and behind the anger Visenna could see the young girl Geralt had tried to rescue hidden away inside. “Why would you leave him like that?”

Visenna looked at Ciri for a long time. She could see that the girl was tired and scared and trying to hide it, and she wondered if answering her at all was wise. Eventually, she chose to speak again.

“Because I loved him,” she said softly, and pulled her arm out of Ciri’s shocked grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I really don't recommend drinking when you're upset. It's a bad, bad way to cope with things. Witchers don't always make the best decisions. 
> 
> I have a lot of feelings about Eskel and Geralt okay


End file.
